


Practice

by Dbaw3



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Sex Pollen, implied Derek/Stiles - Freeform, implied Sheriff/Stiles, magical high sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dbaw3/pseuds/Dbaw3
Summary: Scott and Stiles are magic-roofied.





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr.

“Just tell me they’re going to be okay and not hurt themselves,” John said into the phone with a sigh.

“They’ll be fine, Sheriff,” Deaton said patiently. “The powder the witch used has only temporary effects; everyone should be okay by morning.”

“So you think it’s best to just…let them go?” John said, not sure if he would agree.

“They’re essentially stoned, Sheriff. I’d think your cupboards are more in danger than your son, once the munchies set in.”

“Oh, the munchies have set in, all right,” John muttered. 

*

He knew Stiles had been going to a Pack meeting that evening, and he was slightly surprised when he heard Stiles and Scott, being loud in only the way teenagers trying to be quiet can be, coming back so early. 

“Shh, dude, dad’s probably sleeping,” Stiles shout-whispered as they passed his closed bedroom door.

“Sorry, sorry,” Scott said, just as loud, and they moved down to Stiles’ room, practically slamming his door.

It was only 9:30, and sure John was in bed, but he was reading. He was old, but he wasn’t that old.

He didn’t think any more of it until he heard a couple of bangs against the shared wall between his and Stiles’ rooms. It took a few more random knocks before John sighed, put down his book, and decided to poke his head in to make sure the boys were okay.

He would admit, he probably should have shut the door immediately, once he realized what was going on. He was in shock, though: it’s not every day you found your son with his legs in the air, jeans around his ankles, blissed out as his best friend tongued out his asshole.

The knocking apparently was Stiles’ left hand flailing out occasionally and hitting the wall, which was happening whenever Scott hit a particularly good spot.

John stood watching for a moment, stunned–and instantly aroused. He was broken out of the spell when Stiles moaned, “Oh, yes, Scotty, right there.”

He would have left then, really, if for no other reason than to take care of his throbbing erection in private, but Stiles opened his eyes.

“Hey, Daddy-o!” he said cheerfully, as if it was perfectly normal for John to walk in on him having sex with his best friend.

Scott raised his head and turned, grinning at John, his face wet with his own saliva. “Hey, Sheriff!” 

John tried not to stare at his own son’s small, pink, perfectly beautiful asshole, and hoped he wasn’t drooling.

“I was just helping Scotty here practice,” Stiles told him, his legs still high in the air.

“Practice?” John said, dazed, his voice cracking in the middle as Stiles’ hole winked at him.

“Yep,” Scott said, casually leaning on Stiles’ raised legs, his hand still on the lowered jeans between Stiles’ ankles. “See, I was telling Stiles earlier that I was afraid I wasn’t that good at oral sex with a girl.”

“You know, Dad, like eating pussy,” Stiles provided helpfully.

Before John could clear his throat and point out that he did know what oral sex with a woman involved, Scott continued. “So, Stiles reminded me how we used to practice kissing with each other, back before we’d gotten a chance to kiss anyone else.”

“And I pointed out to Scotty that since I’m gay and a total bottom–” Stiles continued with their narrative.

“He doesn’t even like having his dick touched, Sheriff,” Scott said in wonder.

“Pfft,” Stiles said, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “It’s barely a dick. Look at it!” He waved his hand down at his cock which was, John had to admit, smaller than average, though laying hard against his stomach. John’s own dick might have been leaking a little at this point. “I’d much rather have something in my hole any day.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, getting back to the point. Though he’d also idly started playing with Stiles’ hole with one finger, more fidgeting than anything. “So, since Stiles said he essentially had a pussy–”

“And Derek won’t even TOUCH IT for another six months,” Stiles grumbled.

“–he said I could practice on his,” Scott concluded with a grin.

John stood and blinked. He was finally able to push though his own haze of shock and arousal (and more than one guilty fantasy about his son come to life) to notice a number of things, even as Scott pushed his finger in and out of Stiles’ hole (his pussy, John’s brain supplied), and made Stiles moan.

“Are you guys HIGH?” he asked, louder than intended.

“No!” they both indignantly insisted, which would have seemed more righteous if they weren’t still in the position they were.

There was a pause then Stiles mumbled. “Well, maybe. That witch threw something at us.”

“Fucking witches,” Scott grumbled, then looked sheepishly back at John. “Sorry, Sheriff.”

John got that he was apologizing for cursing, not the two fingers he now had planted in John’s son.

John was also aware he’d faded from focus for the two boys, as Scott seemed compelled to go back to his practice, now licking around his own fingers. 

John closed the door on them, even as he heard his son say, “Oh, yeah, Scotty, you’re excellent at eating pussy. No problems there.”

Which was when he went to make his phone calls.

*

He’d actually tried calling Derek first, and kept getting his voicemail, but Deaton had assured him that the whole pack was apparently exposed to the same thing, and Deaton had last seen Derek in…contact with Peter and Chris Argent, so he assumed they were similarly distracted this evening.

(Part of John really wanted to know the particulars on that configuration, but then there was the sound of a shoe being dropped upstairs and an, “Oh, god, Scott!” yelled, and he became a little more distracted by what was going on in his own house again.)

He was headed back to his bedroom after retrieving his phone from the living room, and he was going to go straight there and just put on some music through his headphones, he was, but the sound of rhythmic squeaking of bed springs and more “Oh, fuck, Stiles, your pussy feels so good,” coming through the door stopped him.

He shouldn’t look, he knew it. He should just let them get this out of their systems in private, and they could have the embarrassed/awkward “Oh, god, how much did we drink last night?” conversation most teenagers got to have at one time or another, and John would just go take care of his own perverted erection in private.

But, he “reasoned”–in the loosest sense of the word–they might hurt themselves in their condition. Wasn’t it his duty as both the Sheriff and a father to make sure the boys were safe?

Whatever, he thought, and opened his pants and Stiles’ door again slightly. 

“Fuck me, Scotty, fuck me,” Stiles was chanting, even as Scott was determinedly hammering into him from behind.

They’d gotten rid of Stiles’ jeans (though he still had his socks on), and had changed to doggy-style position on Stiles’ bed, the headboard now banging continually against the wall, loudly.

“My dick feel good, Stiles?” Scott was asking, as if that was in doubt. “You like getting fucked by my alpha cock?”

John would roll his eyes at their porn-inspired dialog later, but right now, he had his own bare dick in his hand and was trying to get a better view of where Scott’s dick was pounding in and out of his son.

“God, yes, Scott,” Stiles panted. (John noticed while suppressing his own moans and squeezing the base of his dick, that true to his word, neither Scott nor Stiles was touching Stiles’ little cock at all where it was flapping back and forth under him as he met Scott’s thrusts.) “Need your mancock.”

“Just mine?” Scott teased him. 

“Fuck, need Derek,” Stiles practically sobbed. “Need Dad in my pussy.”

John nearly choked in surprise, but Scott never missed a beat.

“That right, slut?” Scott asked, fucking into him harder. “You want your daddy’s cock? Want him to fuck you like this?”

“Fuck, yes,” Stiles said, slamming his hips back. “Want Derek and Daddy to fuck me at the same time. Share my holes between them.”

John hadn’t come that hard in years. He painted Stiles’ doorjamb with it.

While he was still panting, leaning in the doorway just trying to stay upright and get his breath back, Scott orgasmed, roaring more than shouting, and John would be surprised if they didn’t get noise complaints from the neighbors.

Once he regained enough brain cells to realize he’d just come all over his son’s door while listening to him have sex (and admitting to wanting to have sex with HIM), John realized he needed to get his mess cleaned up before either of the boys were aware enough to notice he was there. He closed the door most of the way and went to get a washcloth.

When he came back, he heard the two inside talking softly.

“Did I do it right?” Scott was asking, and John could see through the crack in the door that Scott was on his back, and Stiles was lying on his front. Scott had gone back to playing with Stiles’ hole, apparently shoving his come back in whenever it tried to escape. “You didn’t even come, did you?”

“Mmm,” Stiles said, wiggling his ass, though obviously not trying to get away. “You did great, Scotty. Allison’s really lucky to have you as a boyfriend. Nothing wrong with your oral skills.”

“And the other?” Scott said, still sounding insecure.

“You’re great at fucking pussy, dude,” he said, patting Scott’s stomach clumsily. “I just don’t always cum when I’m fucking myself with a dildo. Trust me, my pussy’s singing right now. If Derek’s half as good as you at it, I’ll be one lucky pussyboy.”

That seemed to relieve Scott quite a bit, and he countered, solemnly declaring in the way only the epicly stoned can, “Well, Derek’s going to be the lucky one, to have a pussy like yours. That was amazing.”

They continued talking while John finished cleaning up the door, and went to bed.

*  
The next morning, John came down to the kitchen shortly after hearing the shower come on, only to find Stiles sitting at the table, forehead pressed into the wood of the top, and moaning in misery. So it must be Scott in the shower.

“A little hungover there, son,” John said, amused, as he went to the coffee maker.

“Fuck I hate witches,” Stiles said without raising his head from the table. “Scotty’s not even slightly sick. I fucking hate werewolves, too.”  
John snorted into his coffee, and took a drink. 

John waited, and noticed exactly when Stiles remembered everything he’d done and said last night–and at least some of what he’d done and said in front of John. It would have been hard not to notice, since he suddenly shot bolt upright, eyes wide and staring at John, a blush coming over the faintly green cast of his skin.

“Um, about last night, Dad,” he started to say, but John waved him off, and started out of the room.

“We’ve all done and said things under the influence, Stiles,” he said, not pointing out what he’d done himself last night, and completely without the excuse of a witch. “We never have to talk about it again.”

Stiles looked relieved, though possibly…disappointed?

John stopped in the doorway, On the one hand, he believed what he just said, but on the other…

He pulled his semi-hard cock out through his fly before taking a deep breath and turning back to his son.

“But if your pussy needs more ‘practice’,” he said, giving his cock a stroke under his son's wide eyes, “you know where to find it.”

John smiled at the stunned look on his son’s face, but was encouraged by Stiles licking his lips as he stared at John’s cock, before he turned to head back upstairs to start the day.


End file.
